


Stab Wound

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [14]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Whumptober 2019, during his time in the Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: Sometimes the other guy is faster
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020





	Stab Wound

“Hammer! Down!”

Bruno ducked as a spray of automatic weapons fire crackled through the area where his head had been half a second ago. He waited, then popped up to fire a few more rounds into the thickening smoke as flames licked the edge of the room. One opponent went down in a spray of dark blood, and Graves popped out from behind an ornate wooden desk that might once have been an antique but was now maybe two steps away from being kindling. Hopefully the rest of their team was having better luck; the “destroy the factory” objective was going well, but the “get out alive” portion was starting to look dicey. Tunstall and Weber had gone to get the supply and route manifests and _should_ have been well on their way outside by now.

Graves fired twice, taking down another Russian “consultant” before being forced back behind the rapidly dwindling desk. “You got any bright ideas?” He shouted at Bruno, and Bruno shrugged. “Maybe,” he half-shouted back before pivoting and tossing a grenade at the end of the room where the “consultants” were taking shelter. “ёбаный пиздец!” was followed by the hasty sounds of cover being taken and Bruno surged up and away towards the rear of the room even as the grenade exploded to the gentle patter of shrapnel and chunks of building.

Grabbing Graves on the way - who managed to find the time to curse Bruno’s parentage loudly - Bruno jumped through the picture windows out of the office and onto the factory floor.

He landed hard and rolled, while Graves fell ass over teakettle onto the pile of tarps Bruno had noticed on the way in. Bruno was back on his feet in an instant, but Graves simply lay there. Bruno kicked his ankle lightly, and Graves glared at him. “You know, when you are about to pull some real bullshit, it’s generally considered polite to let your teammates know ahead of time.” Graves’ conversational tone of voice was belied by the absolutely filthy glare he was leveling at Bruno. Bruno thought for a moment, then deadpanned. “Kowabunga.”

Graves snorted. “I dare you to say that to Pick’s face the next time he asks you what the hell you were thinking,” he said, and held out his hand for Bruno to haul him to his feet. “Fucking hilarious. How much time do we have?” The ceiling nearest the office they had just vacated chose that moment to collapse to the factory floor in a spray of sparks and bits of ceiling. Both men looked at it. “Not long,” Bruno opined, and Graves gave an ironic little bow. “After you, big guy.”

Bruno lead the way towards the factory’s northern exit - their route out called for them to cut through the town to the North and pick up Tunstall, Weber, and Hurley’s distraction team as well as some transportation - and Graves followed closely. Resistance was light until they reached the exit itself.

“ **Hammer**!”

Bruno-half turned at his partner’s shout and the knife aimed at his spine scraped his lower back to sink in just above the hip bone, scraping his pelvis.

Bruno responded immediately, his shot a queer double-echo to Graves’. The assailant - a factory-worker by his clothes - sank back down behind the crates he’d sprung from, a disgusting ten pounds of mince standing in for his head. More shots rang out behind them, voices in Russian joining equally outraged voices in other languages Bruno didn’t have the spare attention to identify. “Shit,” Graves breathed, poking at the knife. Bruno slapped his hand away and fired another shot at their pursuers.

“Break it off if you can, but leave it in. Give me your spare.” Graves was no slouch in the firearms department, but of the two of them Bruno had better aim and Graves knew it. Handing him the requested gun without a murmur, Graves bent down while Bruno picked off their pursuers and studiously ignored the cursing and the jarring pain. It was until a white-hot pain exploded across his hip and he nearly dropped the gun on that side that he finally looked down to see a somewhat contrite-looking Graves hastily putting down a piece of rebar that glowed evilly at the tip.

 _“Ow,”_ Bruno said pointedly, and Graves shrugged. “What you get for throwing me out a fucking window. We clear to move?” Bruno considered for a moment, then shot the last remaining guard between the eyes. The ceiling over the factory floor proper collapsed with a roar and flame rushed toward them eagerly.

“We are now. Ladies first.”


End file.
